Hard to Hear
by Robin Birdie
Summary: Mary Jane confronts Peter about their break-up, surprised by who she finds . . . Slight A/U. One-Shot.


**Hard to Hear**

Mary Jane gave a sigh.

The bruise on her face looked worse than it felt. There was a greenish-yellow hue around the edges, whilst the inside looked like a violent shade of blue, and – whilst it was slowly fading away – it was also swollen and obvious. It was hard to look away from her reflection in the glass; there was just something so haunting about the injury, so that she was constantly reminded of both the incident and the pity that it resulted in. The pity was by far the worst. It was as if her degree and experience meant nothing, because suddenly she was the victim.

It was cold outside, enough so that it brought out a blush to her cheeks, but the blush only made the bruising more obvious and made her more self-conscious. Mary Jane remembered a time growing up where she wished to be a model, but there wasn't enough make-up in the world to cover an injury like that! There was no way that she would blame Peter or anyone else, especially when it was simply an accident, but there was just something so infuriating about wearing her weakness on her face for all to see, because there was no hiding from it or running from it. It wasn't a great advertisement for her independence.

The camera that hung from her neck felt heavy, whilst the strap around her skin felt icy cold to the touch, and – as she gazed inside through the window – she wondered just exactly what she _hoped_ to see. It was her job to work as a reporter, not as a second-rate private investigator, and besides all that . . . it felt a little _obsessive _to be going this far. The restaurant was several miles from her home, on the other side of the city, and it also looked a second-rate and probably due to be closed down by the health-inspector. It was clear the inside was as filthy as the out, even though the glass was murky and the snow had piled up around the edges. Mary Jane pushed back a lock of red hair with another sigh.

This was the exact address. Mary Jane bit her lip nervously and walked over to the shop door, where even the touch of the handle felt sticky through her gloves. It opened easily enough, but the smell of Mexican food inside made her feel nauseous, whilst the floor felt as sticky as the handle and stuck to her feet. The staff seemed to consist of just a couple of young boys by the cash register; one boy was on his phone, whereas the other appeared to pick something out of his ear that made her nausea rise. This place was a true dump.

'_I'm not asking him to move,'_ snapped one.

'_You're the assistant manager, right?'_ The other gave a yawn. _'Your job, man.'_

'_He looks – I don't know – dangerous. You do it, you want it done!'_

'_Aw, come on! He's putting folks off, look at that face!'_

Mary Jane walked past them. The youngest of the pair – the ear-picker – wolf-whistled at her, whilst the assistant manager looked up from his phone with barely any interest. It was clear that this wasn't the 'service with a smile' type of establishment, but she resented the way that they leered at her, as if she were here due to anything but necessity. In the far corner – hidden in a booth – she spotted a man in a red hooded-top, which matched the photographs that her intern shot for her during the course of the week . . . the man's head was down, whilst the photographs had no close-up of the face, but she _knew_ it was him.

"You speak about all your customers that way?" MJ asked.

"Hey, babe, you heading over there? You're looking at him like you know him," said Ear-Picker. "Boss won't go over and say something, but you think you can? You just need to remind him that if he's all finished . . . you know . . . it's alright to go and stuff."

"Oh, believe me, I have _plenty_ to say to that guy. Is he the one you're talking about?"

"Er – oh – yeah, but you'll see what we mean when you see him."

"That's comforting," she muttered.

MJ walked down the length of the restaurant to the cubicle. There was a Mexican flag in an old frame over on the wall opposite him, whilst the ceiling above hung a Spanish flag, and – in an oddly positioned way – he sat with his back to the door and staff. It made her a little nervous, but the stack of photographs in her satchel were of a man with that _exact_ same hooded top, not to mention May specified this place and was absolutely certain of the address. It had to be him. There was no one else it _could_ be.

It looked like he was eating some sort of burrito, although the table was filled with greasy wrappers and dirty plates, and a part of MJ wondered how this man kept his figure. The toilet door stood only a foot from the cubicle, with the kitchen doors opposite the cubicle itself, and the idea of spending any time whatsoever in the restaurant made her feel sick. There was no way that any sane woman would do something like this, but something in MJ just _needed_ to know so desperately! This man was so close that she could almost touch him, enough that she could hear his crunching and burping, and a part of her was disgusted by his eating habits and choice in eating establishments. It wasn't fair, not when MJ was so much more refined.

"Mary Jane Watson," she said firmly.

The man simply carried on eating, although he screwed up a wrapper into a ball and threw it straight at her. It left a slight greasy mark on her leather coat, which she instinctively wiped away in disgust, and the wrapper fell to her feet and rolled a little in mockery. She drew in a deep breath to remain calm, not used to being so disrespected, and looked over him to get a better idea of just what kind of man that sat before her in profile. He wore gloves to eat, whilst his red top and worn jeans were both far too big for him.

"Look, I don't know what Peter told you," she said coldly, "but I don't deserve this kind of treatment, okay? I've been looking for you for a while. I'm not here to cause trouble, but I just need to know how long this has been going on . . . was he cheating on me?"

There was no response at all. Mary Jane let out a hiss of breath; it was hard to remain calm when he was so blatantly ignoring her, but she wouldn't let herself shout or make a fuss. She was a professional woman, one with a good reputation and self-respect, and if he expected her to make a scene -! Well, he would be disappointed. She wasn't going to give him any reason to make _her_ out to be the villain of the piece. MJ tapped his shoulder firmly.

"I just want to talk. If you would just –"

MJ let out a gasp.

The man that turned around was far from what she expected. He looked . . . _hurt_. It was the kind of physical damage that she associated with victims of fire or disease, but without the look of emotional distress that usually came with those in constant agony or growing used to their disfigurement, and – whilst she never usually judged anyone on their appearance – she felt a huge sense of pity. This man reminded her of the victims of acid-attacks when she visited Pakistan the summer before, but who would do that to him?

He looked up at her with a hardness that seemed so wrong on someone that looked like they had been through so much, but all she knew about physical illness came from those she interviewed and those she knew, so it felt somehow wrong to assume he would be just like any other person, as if there were somehow a type, and yet -! The look felt _wrong_. There was just something so _angry_ behind those brown eyes, especially how they narrowed and stared at her unblinkingly, and she felt judged by him . . . could pain and disfigurement do that to a person? She looked to her left to the staff at the counter, but they stared at her with a mixture of awe and terror and waved at her to get rid of him. She looked back.

It was strange, but – beneath those raised and red scars – he looked almost handsome. He was clearly well-built and made of muscles, even if he hid them well underneath baggy clothing and a slouched posture, but his skin was enough to make him unappealing to most people. It wasn't that he was _ugly_ as such, but Mary Jane could see a few pustules fit to bursting point and it was off-putting . . . this must have been the wrong person. Peter was – well – incredibly handsome and extremely intelligent, so if he were going to leave Mary Jane for anyone than she expected . . . well . . . _more_.

"I – I'm sorry," she said. "You're Wade Wilson, right?"

The man tilted his head to one side, enough that his hood slid just slightly to reveal that he long lost his hair despite being not quite middle-aged, and he gave her the long-suffering look of someone that had been asked a question that had been asked a thousand times over. It was then he raised his hands and began to sign. There were perhaps one or two that MJ could make out, but the few pieces of sign-language she knew had been from a British colleague some years ago, and – frankly – it may as well have been gibberish charades.

He stopped after a while and gave her a look that seemed to say: 'well'. It was obvious that he was waiting for some response or some acknowledgement of his disability, but he signed so quickly and she had never learned any American sign language, and he clearly was alone and probably harassed by the staff to leave because of his skin disorder. MJ felt awful that she disturbed him, because he probably suffered a lot of thoughtless people asking him questions or demanding that he move, and now she was just one of a long list of such people. It was hard not to mentally kick herself for her rudeness.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she said. "I had no idea that you were deaf. I mean -! Ah, I'm still doing it! I just – I don't know what to say and I can't sign, but now I'm making it worse by running my mouth, because it's like I'm mocking you and -! I'll – I'll just be going."

MJ raised her hand to signal surrender and bent her knees just a little. It was hard to express an apology through gestures alone, but she was sure that her expression made it clear enough to him, but just in case she said 'sorry' a few times slowly, in hopes that maybe he could lip-read. He watched her with a curious disinterest, before she turned away and began to walk shamefully towards the door of the restaurant. MJ was just thankful that she didn't take the photo of the guy like she had planned, because that would have been _so_ much worse.

The wind outside looked worse, so that she dreaded going outside. The snow was collecting by the restaurant door and built up in a small pile, whilst the cars on the road were going by at a crawling pace, and she kept her head low as she walked through the warmth towards the cold outside. It was hard to believe that she had stormed into a restaurant hoping to accost her ex's boyfriend, as she looked for answers and planned to take a photo to shame him in turn, only to accidentally interrupt a disabled man's meal and awkwardly speak to him in a way that he'd never understand. She felt about two inches tall.

'_Mary Jane? Is that you?'_

"Peter?"

Mary Jane spun around to look back down the narrow walkway to the bathroom door, which knocked against the man's table as it opened, before it swung back to hide the filthy and tiny cubicle from sight. Peter stood before her, as he wiped his hands on a paper towel and threw it down into a small bin beside the kitchen door. The area was so insanely cramped, enough so that she wondered how he could stand it, but – now she knew he was here – she couldn't help but look around to see where Wade could be.

"You really _are_ here?" MJ asked.

"Well, yeah," said Peter. "It's not my favourite place in the world, but Wade swears that the chimichangas are to die for, which is good . . . I guess . . . just some of us don't have the healing factors to come back from the brink of death. I've been in there for ages."

"Too much information, Peter. Listen, I came here to speak to Wade . . . your aunt said you would be on a date here? I didn't mean to just ambush him like this, but it was the only way that I could get _talk_ to either of you! It's like you're _avoiding _me, I swear! I just – I thought he'd be here, but I guess it's better this way . . . I can talk to you instead. Do you think we can sit down somewhere and talk for a while until Wade gets here?"

"What are you on about, MJ? He's right next to you."

"Where? You can't mean -?"

MJ turned to look at the man from earlier. He gave a large smile, but the small chunks of food in his teeth ruined his look even further, as well as made her feel slightly nauseous. It was also made worse by the goofy wave that he gave, as if he somehow knew that he was being spoken about and made to make her aware of his presence. It was hurtful that _this_ was for whom Peter left her; she half-expected to see some gorgeous model or a strapping agent, someone out of her league that she couldn't compete with, but _this_ -?

"He's deaf, Peter!"

"I – er – kind of noticed," said Peter sadly. "He's great at lip-reading, although I forget sometimes and cover my face. It drives him mad. I know _Wade_ can't hear the abuse he yells when I do that, but half the city sure can! Could you – ah – turn around slightly? He can only see my lips there and it feels kind of rude, you know? I mean . . . if you're staying, that is?"

"He can _lip-read_? You're being serious, Peter?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Mary Jane took a step forward and spun to face Wade. It felt rude to turn her back on Peter, but the _anger_ that she felt at him was hard to control. Yes, people fell out of love and grew apart, but it felt something of an _insult_ when he picked someone so – so – so _broken_ as Wade. It felt wrong to pity Wade, not least when he couldn't help how he looked or that fact that he was deaf, but Mary Jane knew that she had things he didn't . . . she felt slighted, as if something were so deeply wrong with her that even Wade was preferable in comparison. The tears were already beginning to well and her eyes felt scorching hot.

It was made worse by how Wade _knew_ what she was saying, or at least could have lip-read her words, but he just let her go! She felt mocked by him. It was all some great big joke; he sat there smirking at her, whilst pretending that he knew nothing she said, and all the while he had already _won_. He had Peter. He didn't _need_ to laugh at her behind her back or manipulate her whilst she tried to talk to him, but he _did_ . . . she thought Peter better than this. She thought Peter would want someone more sensitive.

"So you _knew_ what I was saying?"

"Ha! You're hot when you're angry," said Wade. "Anyone ever tell you that? I can see what Petey saw in you, but you'll never win him back with that pout! Say, what's with the camera? I don't do autographs, you know! Okay, well, maybe I do, but only for kids or for money! Hey, you got a stain on your jacket, but I guess you know that already. I saw your reflection in the glass next to me, but you didn't seem much a threat so . . . yeah. What was I saying?"

"I – I can't believe you! You made me think that I was -!" MJ threw up her hands in a gesture of anger. "So you're _the_ Wade Wilson? I can honestly say that you're not what I expected. Listen, can we talk for a while? I have a few questions."

"Sure, but no guarantee I have any answers."

"Well, you can try, right?"

Wade shrugged and began to pick at his teeth. It was disgusting, enough so that she wondered whether he did it on purpose to try and persuade her into leaving, and she drew in a harsh breath and glared down at him. Wade struck his chest a few times and let out a loud burp that caused her to curl her lip, but he merely smirked even wider at her response and then leaned back on the booth with his arms along the back. Peter gave a sigh and then squeezed past Mary Jane and into the booth next to Wade, where Wade draped an arm almost possessively around Peter, as if to make a point. It was ridiculous.

"MJ? We're kind of on a date here," said Peter.

"Well, we were kind of engaged, but that didn't stop you."

MJ slid into the booth to sit opposite them. Peter gave her a stern look and purposely took Wade's hand and held it in his lap, which made it clear that he wanted to send a message to her that she wasn't welcome there. It wasn't petty on Peter's part, because they ended on somewhat messy terms and things were still very tense between them, and – judging by Wade's fragile state – he probably wanted to protect Wade, too. It was just unfortunate that their intimate position made Peter's lips impossible for Wade to see, due to the angle.

"Wade? I just need to know _why_."

"'Why' what?" Wade asked. "Not very clear, are you?"

"I just -! I just need to know why _you_! My intern followed you for a while," said MJ coldly. "I guess you know that considering how you _broke_ their camera. They weren't able to get pictures of your face, but I could see from your body that you were a guy and pretty built. I mean . . . I _knew_ Peter was bisexual, I did, but I just -! I guess – I guess because he was with _me_ I'd assumed he'd be with a woman _like_ me, if he left . . . that I was his type.

"It was easier in a way, because I can't _compete_ with a man, can I? I can't just grow parts and become someone entirely different. It wasn't so much of an insult, except Peter _does_ like women, so – so why wasn't I good enough? What do _you_ have that I don't? I thought that if I just _saw_ you then I'd _know_, but now it's just -! It's so much worse! I don't know you; for all I know, you could be highly intelligent and kind and loving -! I just don't _understand_. We were doing so well together and so in love, but those kinds of feelings just don't disappear overnight, and – well – they don't _appear_ overnight either."

"Hey," Peter snapped. "I don't like it when you make implications like that. Just come out and say something, if you have something to say! I _didn't_ cheat on you. Wade and I had a complicated relationship before, but when we worked out it was something more? _Then_ I broke up with you, because I respected you too much _to_ cheat on you!"

"Oh, for the -!" Wade rolled his eyes. "Peter, I _know_ you're saying something!"

"What -? Ah, sorry, Wade."

Mary Jane watched as Peter sat up, whereas before he rested his head against Wade's shoulder, and – for a moment – she almost envied them for their intimacy. It also amazed her how observant that Wade appeared, so that he constantly looked from face to face for small cues as to how the conversation went, and he must have followed her gaze to Peter and judged the inaction to know that Peter spoke. She wondered if maybe his other senses were heightened, like with the blind, so that he felt the small vibrations of Peter's chest every time he made to speak, but it felt rude to ask that kind of question.

"If you aren't going to speak," said Wade, "you may as well shut up."

"Wade, I was just saying that I –"

It gave her a small sense of satisfaction to see what came next. Wade grabbed a taco from nearby and shoved it straight into Peter's mouth, which caused the younger man to splutter and cough, before he dropped it onto the table and looked at Wade with a dark glare. They appeared to bicker and argue more like an old married couple or siblings, rather than with any ounce of vindictiveness or indifference, but that kind of intimacy only made her feel the absence of Peter all the more. They used to argue in that _exact_ same way in school.

"Okay, _that _was childish," said Peter.

"Hey, you were the one being all silent in the corner!"

"I wasn't being quiet! I was telling MJ that we _weren't_ having an affair! I did love her, enough that I wouldn't disrespect her by cheating, but our love wasn't enough. I just can't keep having this conversation over and over -! That's all I was saying, Wade."

"Well, I didn't hear you saying anything! How was I to know?"

"You don't hear anything, anyway!"

Wade looked away and pointed to his ears, before he gave an exaggerated look of innocence and pretended that he didn't just read Peter's words. There was a speck of sauce on his chin, whilst the window reflected his image and somehow distorted it, so that – from the corner of her eye – Mary Jane could see a horribly disfigured person that moved simultaneously with Wade whenever he gestured and moved. It was hard not to pity him, but harder still not to pity herself for having lost Peter to someone so . . . so . . .

There was a cold draught as the assistant manager opened the door to smoke outside, which blew in a wave of snowflakes and dirt from the street outside, and MJ gave a small shudder as she tried to compose herself. It was hard not to be jealous. The cold grounded her and gave her a momentary distraction, whilst she tried to remind herself that Harry was waiting for her across the city and that – if she would let herself – she could begin a new life soon too, and that perhaps Peter wasn't the 'bad guy' here, if there were such a thing. She didn't know Wade, at least, whereas Harry was Peter's best friend. It was hard to keep objective.

"Look, it wasn't personal, MJ," said Peter.

"It wasn't _personal_?" MJ glared at him. "I come home one day to find that you've _moved_ in with your aunt, whilst your team all _avoid_ me, and now you're dating a _man_ . . . plus that you didn't even _talk_ to me about the fact we'd fallen out of love, but _that's_ not personal?"

"You remind me of my ex-wife," said Wade. "Not the space-alien one, although she was such a saint and had a great body! Well, if you don't discriminate against bigger-built babes, but who does, right? I'd maybe have been sad about it all, except she was in love with some other dude . . . made a good couple. Where was I? Yeah, you're like my other ex. She was a bit of a ball-buster too . . . wanted explanations for everything, but only explanations that made sense to _her_. It's insane! People _ask_ for the truth, but what they _really_ mean is: 'tell me something I can understand and want to hear'. Makes you afraid to talk at all!"

"Well, I don't want empty platitudes! I don't want Peter to tell me how we've been growing apart, how it won't help to talk things over and -! I just want answers. I want to know how you two even became a couple and why! I want to know what you can give him that I can't! I want to know -! I _need_ to know why I wasn't good enough for him, when all I've ever done is try to be everything that he needs me to be."

"Maybe that was the problem? You try so hard to be what he needs you to be, you forget to be yourself in the process. No one wants to date a phoney! Got to be true to yourself! Not to mention you spend so long analysing what you feel, you stop just _feeling_ it!"

"Oh, so Peter is dating a street-philosopher? Ten cents for a nugget of wisdom?"

"Aw, don't be a sore loser, darling!"

MJ drew in a harsh intake of breath. It was hard to be patronised by someone that was being so passive-aggressive, using false sincerity to try and lecture her on her life, and he hated that her break-up had left her so bitter. She wondered whether it was best to accept that sometimes closure came from simply moving on and forgiving, rather than a desperate search for answers that may not even exist. Still, she leaned forward into Peter's space and raised her hand to her cheek. Wade would be unable to see her lips through her palm.

"What do you _see_ in him?" Mary Jane asked.

"Well, for one thing he has a good heart," said Peter. "He's been through so much, but he's using what he's been through to try and _help_ people. He can be pretty funny, plus he's incredibly affectionate and loving, and he _doesn't_ purposely try to exclude people with disabilities from any activities. Seriously, I might be bad for forgetting to show my mouth, but you're _deliberately_ hiding yours to exclude him!"

"I – I didn't mean to cause any offence! I just wanted to ask a question."

"You wouldn't whisper across a table, would you?"

"That's different, Peter!"

"How?"

Peter cast a look to Wade, but the older man merely shrugged. He reached out across the table for a drink, where he began to slurp through the straw despite there being little left, and the noise grated on MJ. There was a cynical part of her that thought he _knew_ that he was making a noise, even if he couldn't hear it, just so he could get back at her in some small way, and that thought annoyed her more than any other. MJ shook her head and stood up from the booth and looked across to the restaurant door.

"Is that all you have to say?" MJ asked.

"I love him," Peter replied.

"You love him. You don't love me. I get it."

Mary Jane raised a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. The assistant manager walked back inside and stood by the cash register with a resigned look about his face, whilst his companion had taken to doodling on the back of a stack of order-forms. Peter stroked the back of Wade's hand with his thumb, whilst the older man bit his lip and looked at her a little guiltily, whilst his spare hand played with the straw. The world spun on, but only she was left reeling from it all. Wade was the one to break the silence.

"What it's worth," said Wade. "Sorry about all the trouble."

"Forget about it," she snapped. "I really would like to be friends with you both, but I really can't do that right now. I need time to get over this. Just -! Stay away from me, okay? I know it's not your fault, but I just can't look at either of you right now."

"Not many people can look at me anyway. One deaf, other blind; what a pair we make!"

"That's not what I meant! I – I have to go, I'm sorry."

"No worries. Nice meeting you!"

Mary Jane bit the inside of her lip to hold back her emotions. It was hard to tell whether Wade was sincere or mocking, but she knew that it didn't matter either way any longer, because she had to get out of the restaurant. She marched down the sticky floor and past the two staff members, where she was forced to ignore the one that strove to gain her number by leaning over the counter in a childish manner. The door swung open and was slammed shut, but she barely heard it as she began to walk away from the restaurant.

There was a spark of curiosity as she found herself several buildings away, as she barely felt the snow upon her cheeks or the cold upon her skin, and it forced her to walk back and look through the restaurant window. They had their backs to her, but she could see clearly that Wade was kissing Peter and that Peter tried to push him away through his nervous giggling, and she remembered how Peter had been uncomfortable with public displays of affection. Clearly, Wade was an exception to the rule. They looked so natural together, so confident and so contented, and she couldn't help but to look away.

They would never see her cry.


End file.
